


Of The Lord

by anlaaria



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 08:31:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19373029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anlaaria/pseuds/anlaaria
Summary: Aziraphale smiled. It was glorious.





	Of The Lord

And from the sky Aziraphale came down, his arms open and his wings exposed to capture the air underneath him to slow his descent. The light of his being and what he was emanated from his skin as he fluttered gently downward. There was a ring of fire above his white-hot curls that lit a soft, beatific smile that seemed to say, ‘I missed you. Terribly, terribly, I missed you too, my darling,’ and Crowley fell yet again, but in a different sort of way. 

“What is this?” Crowley asked, the grass wet beneath his knees. “What have you become?”

“What I’ve always been,” Aziraphale murmured, and in his hand was a fiery sword, the light of which was enough that Crowley being without his glasses was forced to shade his eyes. “An Angel of the Lord.”

“But-”

“Fear not.” Aziraphale finally landed, though his bare feet never once muddied themselves with the ground. Crowley realized that he was no longer just kneeling… he was cowering, shaking, as some part of himself recoiled violently from Her light. Her love.

Then Aziraphale said, “Stand.”

You’re being awful pushy, Crowley wanted to say, but instead, he whispered in a tone used for desperately trying to convince someone who always does bad to do good, “You’ve never been like this.”

Aziraphale’s smile softened somehow and he crouched down, his six wings flared magnificently behind himself, beautiful cold white under the full summer moon trailing bits of down that seemed to rise up on the wind and become stars. Perhaps they did.

“Stand Anthony J. Crowley.” Aziraphale’s eyes were molten gold and the heat that came from his body was more terrible than the fires of Hell. Aziraphale’s voice echoed. “Stand and be saved.”

It was then, finally, that Crowley realized what was happening.

“But-” Crowley’s voice trembled. “I don’t want-”

Aziraphale’s voice was not his own voice suddenly. His smile not his own smile.

She…She…

“YOU HAVE A CHOICE TO MAKE.” She said through Aziraphale’s lips. “HE HAS PRAYED FOR YOU, CROWLEY. FOR SIX THOUSAND YEARS HE HAS LIFTED HIS VOICE TO ME. HAS HE PRAYED IN VAIN?”

Crowley could do nothing but huddle in the misery and ecstasy of Her presence and the loving, cutting blaze in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“AND YOU CROWLEY, YOUR OWN PRAYERS HAVE NOT GONE UNHEARD. NOT EVEN SINCE THE FALL.”

“Then why-” Crowley was brought low, trembling, his nose in the grass. “Why not-”

“IT HAS BEEN SIX THOUSAND YEARS OF PRAYERS, CROWLEY, BUT ONLY ONE DAY OF SONG.”

And Crowley knew the prayer by heart; Oh Lord, hear my prayer. Keep him safe until we meet again. 

But the song? Crowley recalled carding his hands through Aziraphale’s hair as the Angel slept for the first time in six thousand years, naked and bare, cradled in his arms.

Sitting at Your feet is where I want to be  
I’m home when I am here with You  
Ruined by Your grace enamored by Your gaze  
I can’t resist the tenderness in You

His singing voice had been rusty but for a moment Crowley could hear the ecstasy of the angel in himself again, the love and of course, the joy as he remembered Aziraphale’s lips against his own only moments before, the Angel moving within him, both with body and soul as they finally shared this thing that Crowley had been craving since he felt the rain of the first storm fall away as he was sheltered by a single wing from a single angel who had smiled at him a single time.

“CLEAVE UNTO HIM AND BE SAVED.”

But better yet, Aziraphale had shared what he had been craving with tenacity and worship that Crowley couldn’t even begin to describe.

“…I’m unsure…” 

Something in Aziraphale’s face hesitated then and Crowley’s heart leapt into his throat in panic.

“-But I’m ready.” Crowley whispered, terrified. “Are you ready, Angel?”

Aziraphale smiled. It was glorious.


End file.
